Ruthless Game
by angellwings
Prologue: Take it and Run
So, this was her fucking life. She could whine about it. She could loathe herself and what she'd become or she could take it and run. Try to do some good before her premature death, not to redeem herself but just to make her pathetic life worth something in the grand scheme of things. She was going to hell either way, but if she were going then she'd save some lives on her way out. What was the best way for her to do that in her current situation?
Why, inform on Damien Moreau, of course.
She'd said she was guaranteed to die right? So, if he were going to kill her then why the hell wouldn't she give him a reason to do so? She'd been passing files and tips to the Italians for years on what companies Moreau had his hands in. They were little wins, but at least it was something. Moreau had gotten considerably more irritable as months went on. He was losing money and investments due to seemingly freak accidents. He'd taken some of that frustration out on her but it wasn't anything she wasn't used to. She could take it, if it meant somebody would put him away.
She walked out onto the balcony in her room and smiled at the cityscape in front of her. She hadn't been in the States for an extended period of time since she was 14. That was one of the good things that came from the way the Italians had chosen to come at Moreau. It brought him to the states and subsequently brought her home. An arm snaked around her waist and another across her neck just under her chin. A pair of lips ran across the crook of her neck and she felt someone breathe in her scent. It took everything in her not to shudder in disgust.
"Oh, Claire," Moreau said with a chuckle. "How long have you been with me now? Seven years? Feels like just yesterday I caught you trying to seduce a meal and a bed out of the rich imbeciles at my fundraising dinner. Nineteen years old and all wits and guts. I knew you'd be my favorite from the first moment I saw you."
Did he? Well, he could have at least warned her then. She would have run as fast as she could in the other direction. She took in a slow breath and put on her game face. She'd been grifting since she was 14 and she'd been deceiving Moreau for over 5 years. She could keep going. She could and she would.
She turned in his arms and wrapped her arms around his neck and smiled sweetly at him. She purposefully thickened her southern accent knowing it would only add to her deception. "I wish you would have told me that. I would have charmed you sooner."
He quirked a brow at her and grinned. "Even with Spencer around?"
She laughed and shook her head. "If I'd had to choose between you and Spencer it would have been a no brainer, sweetie. Who wants the muscle when she can have the brain?"
He smiled slowly. "Very astute observation, my dear."
He started to lean in to kiss her and she slipped into the mind of her character. She'd created an alternate Claire in her head years ago, who actually cared about Moreau. In times like these that's who she pretended to be. But luckily, she was saved by a knock at the door.
Moreau sighed and reluctantly answered the door. "Yes?"
"Sorry, boss, you said to come and get you when the call came in," his head of security, Chapman, said as he stood in the doorway.
"So, I did," he said before he turned to Claire and winked at her. "We'll finish this later, my love."
She smiled softly at him and nodded. "I'll be waiting."
And she really would be too. He never let her out of the hotels they stayed at. He may claim to love her but he certainly didn't trust her. Which, as it turns out, was a smart decision on his part. He already trusted her with too much information for her own good.
That information was the very thing that was going to get her killed.
She changed clothes into a form fitting body-con dress, did her make up in the subtle natural way Moreau liked, and then headed for the door of her room. She stashed the phone Moreau let her have in her clutch and hid an extra one in her jacket pocket. She wasn't naïve enough to think that Moreau didn't have her room bugged or that he hadn't stashed a button cam somewhere. She stepped out of her room and was immediately greeted by Chapman.
"What are you doing here?" She asked with a scowl. This was the man who had replaced Eliot. He was inferior to Eliot in every way she could possibly imagine.
"Moreau assigned me to you for the day," he said with a smirk. "It seems he's afraid you might run now that we're back on your home turf."
She rolled her eyes. "Why would I run? I have no where to go and we both know he'd find me before I could make it out of the building."
"Still, he thought it was best if I keep an eye on you until the party later," Chapman told her.
"Party?" Claire asked with a sigh. "You mean that hour and half he spends wooing bimbos in bikinis every where we stop? He doesn't honestly expect me to be there does he?"
"He expects you every where he goes. You know this," Chapman said sternly. "You may want to rethink the way you talk about him. I don't see him tolerating such blatant disrespect."
She scoffed and then chuckled dryly. "I've been with Moreau much longer than you have. I think I know better than anyone what he expects from me. You mind your manners and I'll mind mine. Clear?"
Chapman reached out suddenly and grasped her other arm tightly. It hurt. Really hurt. She was almost certain she'd have a bruise later. He was glaring at her with seething anger. She wasn't quite sure what she'd done to deserve it, but Chapman was unstable at best.
"Now, now," Claire said with confidence she didn't quite feel. "You wouldn't want Moreau to see that bruise at the party later, would you? How would I explain it to him? And how do you think he'd react to another man touching me?"
He scowled and released her forcefully. So forcefully that she rebounded against the wall and hit her shoulder. Hard. Why the hell did she stay here? Why did she stay with these people who cared for her so little? She glared at the hitman and turned on her heel to head toward the elevator.
"I'm going to the bar," she said as she waved a dismissive hand over her head. "Come and get me if I'm needed."
She waited to hear his footsteps behind her but none came. She turned her head ever so slightly and instead found him whispering on his phone. He called someone. She wondered if he was tattling to Moreau. Probably. The elevator doors closed and he still hadn't followed her. She breathed a sigh of relief. That was lucky. It gave her a few minutes head start on him. Not much but enough.
She walked briskly to the bar and worried Chapman would catch up with her before she could manage to make it there without him. She made it and casually glanced around the bar. The security cameras covered every angle but one. She noticed the blind corner and used her peripherals to see if her suspicions were correct.
They were. The Italian was waiting on her. She slipped into the corner booth across from the Italian and wordless pulled a pen from her purse. She unwrapped the silverware from the cloth napkin and scribbled a message.
Party. Pool. Wear a bikini.
She slid the napkin across the table and then silently left to sit at the bar. Just as she sat down Chapman stepped inside. He observed her coolly as she ordered a Cosmo and sat down next to her.
"Did you tell on me to my Sugar Daddy?" She asked bitingly.
He grunted in response and glared at her again. Did he know that a non-committal response was essentially a yes? Probably not. He was security. Not a grifter.
She sat at the bar and people watched for a long time. It was actually sort of freeing to sit and observe people who were unaware of Damien Moreau's existence. She liked believing that there was life outside of him and that there were people alive who were safe from him. For the most part. Because no one could be safe from him completely.
Finally Chapman stood up and gave her a stern glare. "Let's go. The party's in a few minutes."
"I'm not walking in with the rest of those skanks," she spat. She'd gotten very good at playing off her hatred of Moreau as superiority over everyone else in his crew. She let them believe that being Moreau's favorite had gone to her head. It always worked. "We can wait a few more minutes."
"You can," he told her. "But I can't. I need to be the first one there to inspect the site."
"Well then go," she sneered. "I'm not stopping you."
"If I show up without you he will have my head."
She giggled and took a long sip of her drink. "I'm still not seeing the problem. Whether or not you keep your head is no nevermind to me."
He snatched the drink out of her hand and ripped her up off the barstool. "I am not here to baby sit you, and you are not here to pull rank. We are both here to follow orders. I'm done with your shit, Lanier."
He grabbed her in the same place as before. Yes, definitely there would be a bruise, but she'd pissed him off if the use of her last name was any indication. Which made the bruise totally worth it. Terrorizing Moreau's men was the only fun she had left in life anymore. He dragged her behind him and didn't seem to care about the stares and pitying looks they were receiving as he carted her through the lobby of The Governor Hotel. He kept a tight hold on her all the way to her room. He opened the door with a key, where he'd gotten it she had no idea, and literally tossed her inside.
"Get dressed. You have ten minutes," he spat as he closed the door. She rubbed her red and sore arm and wondered why she didn't use any of the tricks Eliot had taught her on Chapman and just run away. The answer came back from the furthest corner of her mind very quickly.
Because Moreau would kill you before you got the chance to take him down. And she desperately wanted to take him down.
The burner phone in her jacket pocket buzzed and she grabbed her clothes to change into before ducking into the bathroom to check it. It was a risk, but with Chapman watching her every move she'd have no other opportunity.
"I'm in," it said plainly. She grinned. The Italian had inserted herself into Moreau's horde of poor naive girls. They saw a charismatic man with money and not the cold-hearted killer that he really was. She'd love to tell them all to run and run fast like she should have done all those years ago. But she couldn't do that without blowing her cover.